


Intimate Friends

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Emma (2020)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Extended Scene, F/F, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: Emma had not lied when she told Mr. Knightley she wished to keep Harriet to herself.
Relationships: Harriet Smith/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Intimate Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [walkonmemories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkonmemories/gifts).



Marriage had always seemed a tedious affair to Emma. What in the world would she ever want to be married for? She had money of her own, consequence of her own, and she surely did not need employment. As for the supposed attraction of having a man in her life, she felt no such particular need as other women seemed to. Matchmaking was exciting and frivolous -- a pleasure, more than anything else. A game for her to play and win, and benefit her friends in the process. But to be actually tied to a man, to be his _property_ no less, was a disgrace and far beneath her. Why she had men enough around her – her father to care for and to love her, and Mr. Knightley to tease her and to irritate her senses. Yes, Mr. Knightley she was very fond of, as much as he had a manner to find fault in her at every turn and bring up her ire. But simply being fond of a man was no reason to bind herself to him. 

Women were far more interesting companions, Emma found. Not _all_ of them certainly. Surely not when they spent all their time talking about, say, Jane Fairfax, or other useless trivial gossip. But there was nothing quite like the sweetness of a young girl, a genuine friend. Nothing like the joy and the companionship and the understanding—

Certainly, no man could compare to the charm of Harriet Smith. 

Emma had not lied when she had told Mr. Knightley that she wished to keep Harriet to herself. It had not begun like that. As smitten as she had been by Harriet’s immediate affection and worship of her, Emma saw no need to keep Harriet beside her at first. It wouldn’t be exactly natural. She was earnest in wanting Harriet to find herself a worthy match with Mr. Elton. A creature as beautiful and charming as Harriet could not be simply wasted. It gave Emma pleasure to think that she could elevate Harriet, to be her ticket to a better, brighter world. After all, being a farmer’s wife was so lowly and simply – well – sad and droll. Emma could not imagine Harriet digging around with chickens and pigs and such, when she ought to be dancing at balls. Why should the unfortunate consequence of her birth be truly so limiting, when Emma herself – judgmental as she realized herself to be – could not find fault enough in it. 

But her judgement changed. Slowly, but surely, Emma became aware that she hated the thought of letting Harriet go. And while she felt ire and embarrassment at her plans regarding Mr. Elton falling through, there was also relief. Harriet cried in her arms and Emma stroked her hair, feeling that this closeness was well enough reward for her troubles, as well as her embarrassment and the need to face Mr. Knightley’s inevitable gloating. 

“Now, now,” she said, as Harriet finally quieted. “We shall not have this moping around for too long. What is a man to be worth all these tears?” She pulled away slightly to look into Harriet’s tear-stained face. Emma felt that same tingle of tenderness in her chest as she had before Christmas when she had gone to see Harriet when she was ill and agreed to transcribe Mr. Elton’s tedious sermon just to please her and to see her dimples when she giggled. Perhaps she was _too_ protective of the girl. 

Perhaps she was too _fond._ A dangerous kind of fond. But Emma never cared to be a coward and back away from her ends. Harriet would be beside her for the foreseeable future and later – at some point – Emma would endeavor to settle her future, and next time she would be successful. But that time was not now, not yet. She would keep Harriet and her charming giggles and beautiful eyes and gracious, tender manners all to herself for yet a little longer. There was no harm in it – there was still time. Perhaps she was being selfish. 

Well, Mr. Knightley most certainly thought her so already, and as he tended to be the most harsh and unashamed critic of her character, she supposed she ought to simply embrace the truth of herself. So, she was selfish – what of it? Men fell in love with pretty faces and charming manners all the time and thought themselves quite justified to be selfish when they did. How was she less deserving of such an indulgence? 

Before the ball, Harriet helped her practice dancing as she intended to dance later with Mr. Churchill. They put their hair up in curlers and danced around the room in their underthings, completely shameless before one another. It was strange for Emma to think that less than a year ago this sort of intimacy between them did not exist. She supposed there was nothing terrible or scandalous about such a thing between women friends, yet it still made her stomach flip pleasantly. She wondered if she would enjoy dancing with Mr. Churchill even half as much as she enjoyed dancing with Harriet. 

Harriet’s step was light and the line of her shoulders graceful. In the soft candlelight, she seemed to glow with pleasure and joy. The flush on her cheeks – Emma supposed from the physical exercise – sung with youth and a purity Emma felt too world-weary for herself. 

“You dance beautifully,” Harriet said, her voice soft and low, as though she was telling a secret. 

To Emma’s surprise, she could feel her own face flush a little warmer. To hide this uncanny confusion, she giggled and pulled Harriet into an enthusiastic embrace. They stood like that for some time, both unwilling to let go. 

Finally, Emma withdrew, but her hands lingered on Harriet’s arms and Harriet’s hands rested lightly on her waist.

“You like Mr. Churchill a lot, Ms. Woodhouse,” Harriet said, her tone somewhere between a question and a statement. There was a tinge of odd disappointment in it. 

Emma shook her head. “Well, I have not quite decided, I suppose.”

“But you practice to dance with him.”

“Well, I practice to dance, generally,” Emma said, a little defensive. “It behooves a girl to brush up on her skills now and then. Is this not fun?”

Harriet giggled. “Anything is fun with you. But you must have danced with dozens of men.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Well, I haven’t counted.”

“May I ask you something?” Harriet asked, suddenly serious. In the low light, her eyes looked very wide. 

Emma felt her heart suddenly miss a beat, as though in anticipation. “Yes,” she managed to say. 

“Have you ever…kissed a man?” Harriet went from a rosy pink to bright scarlet even as she said it. 

“Oh dear!” A nervous giggle burst out of Emma, even though she was unsure why she was nervous. “No, no, that I haven’t.” Her eyes went wide with a sudden thought. “Have you?”

“Oh no! I do wonder sometimes…how it feels.”

“Oh dear,” Emma repeated, suddenly unable to take her eyes off Harriet’s lips. 

“Some of the girls have said…that it is nice. Kissing that is.”

“How naughty of them,” Emma said, although there was not nearly enough bite in it. She suddenly found herself wondering what _Harriet’s_ lips would feel like. 

“Well, they don’t know anything about it really,” Harriet said quickly. “They’ve never kissed a man. Only…”

“Only what?”

“Each other.”

“Each other!” Emma’s stomach did a small somersault, even as she had to admit that the proposition was quite scandalous. 

“And I must confess,” Harriet continued, her eyes feverishly bright. “That I wouldn’t so much like to kiss a man as…as—”

Emma shook her head, quickly. She could not hear this. She did not think she could control the sudden wave of longing that was overcoming her if she did. “Do not say things you do not mean or understand, Harriet,” Emma whispered with rapid-fire vehemence. 

“As you,” Harriet finished and immediately dropped her eyes to the floor. 

Emma sighed, a shiver running through her entire body. How she would like to do the same. To be Harriet’s first kiss. _To be her only kiss,_ if she was honest with herself. 

Emma had never been able to _not_ indulge herself. Not when she really wanted something. Harriet had brought it up first, after all. “I suppose there can’t be any harm,” Emma said, realizing her voice sounded unnaturally low and hoarse. Her throat had gone dry.

Harriet looked up, hope and fear making her eyes shine. The most beautiful eyes Emma had ever seen. “Truly?”

“Well, we’ve become such intimate friends,” Emma reasoned, even as she reached out to cup Harriet’s face. 

They inched toward each other, until their lips met. Emma’s eyes fell closed and she breathed in as they kissed. A tender, sweet kiss – over almost as soon as it began – but it left Emma with a longing for more. With a yearning for things she could not describe to herself without confusion and embarrassment and—

She opened her eyes and looked into Harriet’s face with a trepidation she rarely felt. 

“I’d like to do that again,” Harriet said, with a soft, hopeful smile. 

“To practice,” Emma reasoned. 

“I suppose it must be alright between such intimate friends as us,” Harriet said, imitating Emma’s tone. 

Emma couldn’t quite help either the smile or the warmth in her chest. And she certainly couldn’t help kissing Harriet once again.


End file.
